There are so many kinds of awful men – One can’t avoid them all. She often said She’d never make the same mistake again; She always made a new mistake instead. The chinless type who made her feel ill-bred; The practised charmer, less than charming when He talked about the wife and kids and fled – There are so many kinds of awful men. The half-crazed hippy, deeply into Zen, Whose cryptic homilies she came to dread; The fervent youth who worshipped Tony Benn – ‘One can’t avoid them all,’she often said. The ageing banker, rich and overfed, Who held forth on the dollar and then yen – Though there were many more mistakes ahead, She’d never make the same mistake again. The budding poet, scribbling in his den Odes not to her but to his pussy, Fred; The drunk who fell asleep at nine or ten – She always made a new mistake instead. And so the gambler was at least unwed And didn’t preach or sneer or wield a pen Or hoard his wealth or take the Scotch to bed. She’d lived and learned and lived and learned but then There are so many kinds